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| Photo by Stephan Eickschen on Unsplash |
How did we reach this point
only to regret it later on?
When two roses avoid each other
because of the thorns that wounded the other
When two birds turned into strangers
because their verses no longer rhyme
When a wall fell between two parties
because of a tragic circumstance
To make mistakes is human
and time has the power to say
all of the things that went astray
You lose without knowing you lose
when you get blind at some point
by climbing to the top
by thinking you’re always right
by holding jealousy and hate
by giving shelter to ego and pride
You lose without knowing you lose
when you get used to escaping
and humans love to escape
by leaving without a verse
by letting the wounds open
The art of being kind
is free and simple but not known to many
The art of forgiving
is a superpower but not known to many
We are all flowers in a field
Some will wither first
and the last songs and dances you left to them
will remind the heart and mind
So, if you wither when it’s your time
what could be the song and dance
you last left the flowers in the field?
“A Letter to Batch Madasigon”
By R.S. Dansal
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Your perseverance has won
Your worry is out of the prison
The graduation hymn is loud
The banners hanging are proud
A day of maroon caps and gowns
Burned are years of ups and downs
Marching forward, can’t turn around
Can’t go back to the battleground
The morning rush to annex class
The waiting for the time to pass
The diverse people you collide
The smiles and impact they provide
The ‘first-times’ in your journey
The foggy mornings of January
Your undergraduate study
All of them are now a memory
You sauntered in the aisle
The first survivors to saunter
Trying to defrost this hall from winter
After the bodies erode in December
You sauntered in the aisle
After the pandemic you defeated
After the losses you buried
After the blues you carried
You sauntered in the aisle
Because you’re the star of this day
But at a distance, and miles away
You’re only part of the screenplay
Think not that you're insignificant
Your capes named you important
They’re like the wings of a butterfly
Waiting for you to stretch them high
When the lights perish in this hall
And the curtains on stage will fall
We can't escape but do with grit
The by-products of our exit
"Fly Race"
By R.S. Dansal
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| Photo by Pavan Kumar Nagendla on Unsplash |
I took a glance at the sky
Pigeons were racing to fly
They have guts and potential
Persevering in motion
Moving towards destination
A pigeon caught my sight
Looking jaded on their flight
Feeling under the weather
Scared that he might not catch up
But his brave wings don’t want to stop
Its sudden weakness
Threatened his firm willingness
Willingness to finish the race
If I only know his pain
The pain that he couldn’t explain
If he slowed down his pace
Can he still finish the race?
But he may not arrive on time
Just as other pigeons did
Is it really a race?
“Haste Not”
By R.S. Dansal
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| Photo by Shubham Sharan on Unsplash |
Like those racing pigeons in the sky
They hurry their wings to soar and fly
To cut strings from this hall of learning
Heedless of the details they’re missing
I attempt to fathom why they haste
On the road, they had traversed and chased
Haste not, for this short ride should be felt
Before the greenest years of yours melt
Being a student comes only once
A privilege that bestows a chance
To be young is only in one’s prime
But being a learner takes a lifetime
“Hope is Not Frail”
By R.S. Dansal
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| Photo by Abigail on Unsplash |
Like a barren tree in winter
You watch your leaves frost and fester
Yet when bareness left you wounded
Let not the mist left your sight blinded
You can't watch your wounds forever
As if your bareness will not flower
You can't stay frail, loving winter
As if spring does not exist after
Strange it is, to let your wounds bleed
To keep dancing with pain than be healed
And you know its remedy exist
Yet you act like it didn’t exist
“Your Gray Photograph”
By R.S. Dansal
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| Photo by Jason Wong on Unsplash |
I watch your photograph in gray
And your tapes began to play
Rolling your presence from yesterday
When things did not go astray
Back when my age was at its prime
You’re always there all the time
Now you left our home with your traces
Fragments in certain places
I miss your colored photographs
When you were all smiles and laughs
And the motions were freshly woven
Before they were all frozen
“The Halt”
By R.S. Dansal
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| Photo by Unseen Studio on Unsplash |
For a poet, with a poetic mind
To weave words is more than to unwind
What the eyes have seen, calms not the heart
Until the ink curates an art
So, when the poet took a sudden halt
The subjects keep mounting in the vault
As the coldest days keep passing by
The paper stayed empty and dry
If only the paper could bear the weight
If only the heart could just dictate
If only time is not hard to look
The poet could have made a book
"To the Train"
By R.S. Dansal
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| Photo by Antoine Beauvillain on Unsplash |
I am standing blind here on the road
I can't tame the storm to unfold
The wind took the umbrella I hold
And the gloom above me unrolled
The rain watered the fire that warms me
And the lamp is neither to see
I looked for proof if it's called a dream
The counterproof is more pristine
I turn to the south, from where I stand
I see the years I've overcome
But toward the north, from where I stand
I'm near to where I dream to come
...continuation on my book.
A sea of flowers is blossoming
Where few became part of your journey
These few could also be many
The smiles of these distinct flowers
The way I called them, a heritage
You see them in your daily wonders
And some were now in their old age
You who are engrossed in sprouting
Once in a while, you're appalling
Unwilling to embrace the truth
That some had withered or lost their youth
Time is best for someone as young as you
Robust in all you want to pursue
But in chasing the road you've taken
Some might get missed or forgotten
Empty fuel, ailing engine
A melting steel deprived of sleeping
A deceiving smile he's wearing
Battling in war with sole aim
To survive the long day again
Despite the cuts and bruises he gains
The injured mind, the blatant pain
To read and read, his daily grind
Reading books is like human mind
And human minds, they're hard to decode
But he's trying, trying to code
On his bed, a foe would invade
A nemesis, he can't evade
Doubts and trembling, blues kept playing
Alone in the dark, he kept brawling
No matter how he falls apart
When the sun appears again in the sky
He sees hope for another try
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| Photo by Amin Hasani on Unsplash |
Her
comfy, cozy pelage soothes
As she sighed at the window of the sooth
Holding a cup of tempting coffee
As a camp-fire song plays sweet as toffee
What a cold, low-vibey afternoon!
That paints her a perfect mood-like tune
Yet trees dance as the wind is whispering
Clouds turn dimmer as birds are chirping
Noise is heard, and tiny drops start to fall
Yes, it’s a mighty rainfall at all
Things started to pop up in her brain
As she reflects and observes the rain
Oh, lovely rain, that pours down strongly
Thy gift you are from the Almighty
As I commit to serendipity
I’ve seen your harmonious mystery
You seemed to them as ordinary
It is they fail to think of reality
Sometimes you’re calm and not too heavy
Sometimes it's wafture and melancholy
Once you and your mellifluous sound’s gone
You leave an earthly fragrance upon
You mark a pleasing, aromatic scent
Which sweet smell isn't evanescent
Yes, for some, it seems impossible
Quite foolish and unbelievable
It’s not possible
Rare to feel, but believable
One must not be blind or oblivion
Make some sense of your imagination
Rain is lagniappe and natural
A phenomenon that is part of life
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